So Far
"So Far" is a phrase that can be two opposing things. On one hand it means "up to this point" and on the other it relays something in the distance. Whenever we think we we have landed, we have ever more to explore. Within the space of this room whose edges are softened by silk panels, a shadow-horizon bounces us back into the place we’ve landed. I invite you to gaze into the illuminated craters veiled by a layer of tinted white oil. Floating “lenses” allow you to view the grid of the mapmaker and fragments of collages below. We gaze into craters left after some mysterious impact. In these craters the images have missing parts, stories with hollowed out cores.
So Far installation
stained fabric, plaster basins, water and tinted Oil, wooden rings, mylar drawing stretched silk, transparency collages, LED lights, projected animation
maybe we are the door
“maybe we are the door” is an interactive sculpture with plaster basin, liquid, wooden rings, light. Title and drawing text drawn from the hidden text in my junk mail folder
Intermittent Transmission
Decoding Grief
freckle constellation
The movement and presence of stars are material we’ve use for millennia to mark our place in the world and navigate by. During a research trip to Ireland two years ago I visited the derelict home of my great-grandfather. As I travelled through the country, I found myself surrounded by people with the same abundance of freckles as I have. Our chaotic skins seemed to make up for the lack of stars so often obscured by the cloud cover common there. This abundance tied us to the landscape, and in response, I photographed my own freckles and made a paper map of them, interleaving pressed wildflowers as constellations (Figure 8). The paper maps hang above head-level to replace the naturally found drawing of stars in the sky with constellations of freckles. Thus I tied my inherited physical traits to the landscape of my ancestors.
writ on silken seas
“Writ on Silken Seas” is a sculptural tribute to the labor of waiting. Hand-dyed silk stretched over bamboo rods and then smocked with sewing pins to make an irregular (binary) pattern on the surface. Next to the growing pile of framed silk are more materials, more silk, more bamboo, pins glitter in a wooden bowl. As a “performance in stasis” the maker is not present, it’s not clear if the work is being made or unmade. The labor of writing and the labor of waiting coexist in my retelling of the story of Penelope weaving and unweaving her cloth while hoping for the safe return of Odysseus—perpetual rewritten love letters never sent, edited and re-edited ad nauseam.
Passage
Surveying the Landscape
